


Hookie

by paulmcfartney



Series: McLennon Drabbles [7]
Category: McLennon - Fandom, The Beatles
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, McLennon, also paul's gonna pop a boner in the middle of this pub, john is one hundred percent a little shit and i can't, teddy boy, the boys are fuckin at it again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 04:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14742198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulmcfartney/pseuds/paulmcfartney
Summary: req: "some kind of cute out queer 50s McLennon without the usual period typical homophobia"





	Hookie

**Author's Note:**

> i remember hearing this one story about john crashing one of paul's dates with a girl, and they ended up going to some restaurant. they finished eating, and obviously didn't want to pay for their food. so, naturally, john and paul conjure up a fake fight and scream at each other in this restaurant until the owner finally kicks them out. 
> 
> honestly, how fucking genius is that?

As per usual, hookie days with John Lennon don’t always end up going as expected. 

He suggested the evening before that he and Paul should take a day and “realign their chakras, or some shit like that.” Paul just took it as John wanting all day alone together, laid up half-clothed in his bed and giggling when John would graze his lips over that ticklish spot on his collarbone.

But there they were, sitting knee to knee in the back of a pub at lunchtime. Exactly what Paul wasn’t expecting.

John was too busy wolfing down almost an entire turkey sandwich whole, while Paul sat silently marvelling over how John hasn’t choked yet. If he can choke on my--nevermind. 

There was a little stray strand of hair falling in front of his face, which he either didn’t care enough about or didn’t quite notice at first. God, as much of a pig he can be sometimes, he still somehow manages to be adorable. 

When he finishes eating, after he makes the excuse that Mimi hadn’t bought any groceries recently, John orders the two of them vanilla milkshakes, and they sit in silence in their tiny, secluded booth. There’s a song by the Coasters playing faintly in the background, probably coming from the radio sitting on the counter across the pub. 

Paul sips on his milkshake, and their thighs are bumping together in their seats, and John gives Paul this look like he knows just how much his heart is jumping at this very moment. John nudges him with his leg, and leans his head toward him ever so slightly so that it’s resting on his shoulder. 

It’s probably the absolute tiniest gesture that somebody could do to show their affection, but Paul’s heart is soaring above all else, and that special kind of warmth he always feels from John spreads from his chest outwards. It should also be noted that John’s hand is placed directly on his inner thigh, and that his thumb is rubbing tiny little circles into the skin underneath his drainies, and _Paul is about to pop a semi in the middle of a fucking pub._

A short peck on his jaw brings Paul back to reality, and besides his brief period of anxiety over his current state, he continues to lean into the warmth radiating off of John to his left. Paul manages to slide a quick arm around John’s waist from behind, and pulls him impossibly closer to his side, all while the older boy continues to place his lips along Paul’s cheek and up to the side of his forehead. 

“You know, whenever you’re ready, Mimi’s out for the day, and that means that we’ll have Mendips to ourselves,” John whispers against Paul’s skin, and Paul shudders when his breath grazes his neck. Paul turns, and places a lingering kiss on John’s temple. “Well, you realize that we’re going to have to pay before we leave, John.” 

John sits up in his place and falls into thought briefly. And just like you’d see in a cartoon, it looks as if a lightbulb has gone off in his head--”Bingo.” John has the look in his eyes when he’s either about to do something stupid or--fucking hopefully--something brilliant.

“Follow my lead,” is what Paul gets as his fair warning just before absolute all hell breaks loose.

“So you’re the one that’s been fucking my girlfriend?!” John shouts loud enough to draw the attention of everyone else in the pub, and, most likely, everyone within a five kilometer radius of the pub itself. And when he looks up at John, who’s just recently risen to his feet in mock anger, Paul’s actually convinced that he really is the one fucking his girlfriend.

Paul catches John’s quick smirk just in time before he joins in with his own banter. “Yeah, but she’s been begging me for it since her wanker of a boyfriend just hasn’t been enough, y’know!” Paul rises to his feet as well, and the two boys are nose to nose, just to emphasize the reality of their act. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Paul notices one of the workers scrambling out from behind the counter to attempt to break up the two boys’ “fight.” The man proves to be unsuccessful, however, when John shoves him away from the table. 

“Fucking Christ, you have some bloody nerve, McCartney--”

“Hey, take it outside, will you? There are other bloody customers in here!” a heavyset man bellows from the corner of the room--probably the owner. The man shakes his head in disappointment.

The two boys continue the act until they’ve successfully exited the building, John still making short little passive aggressive comments like “you’re gonna fuckin’ pay, mate,” and “at least my dick’s bigger.” A classic.

As soon as they’re out of the pub, John rushes up to Paul and plants the absolute deepest, most magical kiss on the younger boy’s lips and curls his slim fingers around his neck to pull him close. Their noses are brushing past one another, and Paul can feel when John softly exhales against his lips. Paul’s definitely never felt this whole and warm in all his seventeen years of life, however short that may be. 

When John pulls away, he lingers for a moment, savoring the feeling of their lips melding together before he takes Paul by the hand and tugs. 

“Mate, I think we ought to make a run for it.” John’s peeking over Paul’s shoulder back into the pub, and Paul turns around to peer through the glass and makes eye contact with the owner who was just previously having them take their “bird troubles” outside.

They bolt down the street together, giggling as the man stands outside of his pub roaring insults down the street at them. All that matters in that moment is the feeling of Paul’s hand in John’s, and the way that John squeezes tighter whenever he laughs. 

Hookie days with John Lennon definitely don’t always end up going as expected.


End file.
